


Clawed

by sphekso



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #JustFuckMeUp, Blood Play, Dark as fuck so maybe dubcon but it's consensual?, Hot Wendigo action, Knife Play, M/M, Scratching, Submission, handcuff play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7159991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sphekso/pseuds/sphekso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Hannibal and Will's anniversary, and what better way could Will spend it than chained to a bed? Hannibal has the answer, and it's a decidedly dark one...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clawed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for @hannibalcreativ's #JustFuckMeUp challenge (to write a kink you've never written before). Well, I stepped up to the plate. Let me know if it was a home run.

Will made his decision without hesitation, and opened his mouth to allow Hannibal to drop a pill on his tongue. He swallowed, but the chalky tablet caught in his throat, so he grabbed a half-melted, half-drunk margarita from an empty table to chase it down.

“Eager boy,” Hannibal purred. He laced his fingers through the back of Will’s hair and pulled him in for a tender kiss, apparently not caring who saw them. Will had designs of his own, though, and broke the sweet kiss to nip hard at Hannibal’s bottom lip instead. The sudden dart of pain made the doctor jolt upright.

Any other night with any other man Hannibal might’ve fiercely resented the bite. But this wasn’t just any night, and Will wasn’t just any man. Will was _his_ man, and tonight was their anniversary. And tonight, it seemed, _his man_ wanted to get a little rough.

Hannibal jerked Will’s head back by the hair. “Be careful who you bite. They might bite back.”

“I’m counting on it,” Will said. He scanned Hannibal’s face. “You look…”

Hannibal’s eyes glinted even in the bar’s dim light. “How do I look?”

“Dangerous,” Will returned. “I like it.”

“We should change locale. The kind of dangerous you want doesn’t play nice in public.”

“Does it play nice in private?”

“That depends on your definition of nice. But we’ve exhausted this place.” Hannibal released Will’s hair—but not before giving it another harsh jerk.

Will gave out a weak cry, but one look at his face revealed the dark pleasure the pain had given him. He wordlessly followed Hannibal through the room and out into the brisk night air.

“You’ll feel the drug soon,” Hannibal said unprompted.

“Did you take one?”

Hannibal opened the passenger door for him when they reached the car. He slid in, and Hannibal replied, “Why would I? That would be selfish of me, wouldn’t it?”

In the haze of three beers too many Will didn’t think to question him further. “Back to my place?” he asked.

“Mine,” Hannibal said. “I have a special treat for you.” He sank into the driver’s seat and neatly pulled his door closed.

“More treats? You already gave me drugs.”

Hannibal’s lips parted, displaying the all-too-hungry grin he only ever showed for Will. “The pill,” he said, “was only round one.”

“Then what—“

“Ah, ah!” Hannibal cut in. “I won’t say another word. Be patient. You’ll know all there is to know before long.” He pulled the car onto the highway and sped up, roaring to a solid eighty miles per hour.

Will felt the strange phantom sensation of his body dragging behind the car, like he’d left it on the concrete and Hannibal’s Mercedes was tugging it along by chains. He chalked it up to the drug and closed his eyes, settling deeper into his seat. He had a fleeting thought that he might lean over the center console and unzip Hannibal’s slacks—to see if he could make him moan loud enough to overpower the engine’s drone—but the pill had him feeling too heavy to make any grand movements. He gave in and let it take him deeper until reality itself seemed to bend. His rolled his eyes over to look at Hannibal, but was confused to find him not simply sitting next to him but looming above him. Will had slumped completely down in his seat. “You’re like a god from down here,” he said. His words dripped from his mouth thick and slow.

“I appreciate that. But rest. We’ll be home soon.”

Will nodded and closed his eyes. Each bump in the road made his chest thrum harder and harder until it all became too much, and consciousness slipped away from him.

 

\---

 

Something cold cut through the inky blackness of Will’s lax senses. Chilly and slick on his skin, then pulled taut—then _he_ was pulled taut—but what part of him? He fought to get back to the waking world. He reached his mind out to the cold… where was it? _His wrist._ Sensation returned to his hand, then trickled up through his arm to his shoulder. The chilly thing closed tighter around him and he felt his limb stretch to its limit. He focused on the cold and his overextended muscles until he could drag the rest of his body back to life. He found his other arm pulled in much the same way—with the same cold feeling wrapped around his wrist—and scanned lower until he reached his legs and feet. He was spread eagled, but there wasn’t anything cold around his ankles. It was warmer, and rough, almost like… _rope_. At that realization the world flooded back to him. He opened his eyes to take it all in.

A voice came: “You’re awake.” _Hannibal’s voice_. “I was concerned you wouldn’t be joining me for some time.”

“What…” The inside of Will’s mouth felt like cotton, and his jaw ground from side to side rather than opening as it should have, but he was able to get three more words out. “Where am I?”

“You can’t tell? You’re in my bedroom. This isn’t the first time you’ve been here.” Hannibal tugged something—a knot?—and Will’s leg dragged out to the foot of the bed.

“What are you…”

“You’ll have to speak up, Will,” Hannibal said. “Would you like something to drink? Your voice is a little cracked.”

“Y…Yes,” Will struggled out. “Something to…drink.”

Hannibal chuckled. The noise lingered between Will’s ears, bouncing around his brain in a way that could only be due to the pill. “You’ll have to wait for that. I expect it would be difficult to raise your head now.”

Will attempted to lift his head anyway. He rose up a few inches on his neck for as long as he could, and in the brief moments he had to take in his surroundings, he noted with some confusion that his legs were in fact tied to the bed. He didn’t see Hannibal, though he must have been close. He moved his head to the side. He could see his right wrist handcuffed to the headboard. “What… Why am I tied up?”

“It’s an anniversary present,” Hannibal said. He stepped around the side of the bed until Will could see him. Something dangled from his fist. “It’s nothing you can’t handle, and I can almost guarantee you’ll enjoy it. And of course you need only say the word if you want me to stop. I would never force you. You do trust me enough to let me begin, don’t you?”

Will blinked hard in an attempt to come to his senses. “I’ll enjoy it? What’s are you…” He looked back to Hannibal, who was smiling down on him, but that smile was anything but angelic. It was fierce. His eyes, though, held the same loving glint they always did when he looked at him. Those eyes reassured him. “You’re not going to hurt me,” Will said.

Hannibal tipped his head to the side. He looked vaguely offended. “Was that a question?”

“No,” Will said. “A statement.”

Hannibal reached out to touch his hand. He gently stroked his fingers along its palm. “Good. I could never hurt you, though I can’t say the same about you. You nearly drew blood earlier.” He touched his lip and chuckled again, softer this time. It didn’t rattle around Will’s skull the way it had before.

“So this is…” Will worked his tongue around his mouth to moisten it. It didn’t work. “This is a sex thing?” he finished.

“In base terms,” Hannibal said. “I’ve taken away your control, and in return I will deliver you pleasure. A fair trade.”

Will mulled that over. It took a while for the cogs to spin completely in his hazy mind, but once they had he knew he wasn’t opposed to the idea. He _had_ wanted something dangerous tonight—and this was nothing if not dangerous. “Alright,” he said. “What now?”

Hannibal winked at him. “Now you stop asking questions and let me get to work.”

Will choked out a little nervous laugh. “Do your worst, then.”

“Careful what you wish for.” Hannibal leaned over the bed and unfurled the thing in his hand: one of his paisley ties. Before Will could protest, he deftly wrapped it around his head and knotted it.

“I can’t see.”

“That’s the point. Now hush.”

Will closed his mouth. He heard rustling from the foot of the bed… and a zipper being undone. He smiled in spite of his condition. He’d been aching for Hannibal all night, and now he was about to have him.

The rustling stopped. Will supposed Hannibal had finished stripping. He closed his eyes under the tie and waited for his hands to fall on him, but his touch didn’t come. An odd sound came from his lover’s direction instead. It was something like a _creaking_ , and just above audible level. Soon a staccato of pops and cracks accompanied it.

“Hannibal?” Will called. “What’s happening?”

The sounds stopped, but there was no reply.

“Hannibal?” Will tried again.

Nothing. Then footsteps. _Thumping_ footsteps, far too heavy for Hannibal to make unless he was truly stomping his feet. Apprehension crept up from Will’s belly, but he did trust Hannibal, and he was ready to at least give whatever this was a try.

A series of clicks echoed from the side of the bed, seemingly coming from deep in Hannibal’s throat. Will swallowed hard. The sounds must be part of it, he thought. A little fear to get things moving, that’s all. He felt a shadow fall over him, obscuring the warmth of the bedside lamp. He shivered—partially from the cold, partially from his frightened nerves. “Are you there?” he asked.

More clicking noises—faster this time—then silence. Will shifted on the bed. He pulled at his handcuffs a little, but they were fastened tight.

“Stay still,” Hannibal ordered. But it didn’t _sound_ like Hannibal. Not completely. It had his cultured intonation, but a decidedly darker tone.

Before Will could process what that tone meant, something—an outstretched finger?—traced its way along his right side. He shuddered again, and his raw desire flooded back to erase his fear. “Are you going to undress me?”

“In a moment,” came Hannibal’s dark voice. “But I told you to hush.”

Will nodded as much he could, and Hannibal’s finger dragged up his side to his chest. It seemed almost… sharp? But Hannibal always kept his nails impeccably trimmed. Even so, as it reached the center of his chest and applied more pressure, _sharp_ was exactly the word to describe it. “…Is that a knife?” Will ventured. He supposed he should be scared now, but some dark part of him enjoyed the idea. Like he’d said, Hannibal would never actually harm him.

Once again, Hannibal didn’t reply.

The sharp thing dug under his shirt and crudely popped open button after button, scratching a trail into his skin as it went. When its job was complete and Will’s shirt lay undone, he felt several five separate pricks like needles prod his chest. They wrapped around the cloth and tugged it aside. Hannibal must have been wearing some kind of glove, Will thought. Something with pointed nails.

What he supposed to be Hannibal’s fingers danced across his chest, teasing him lightly with their razor-sharp tips. The sensation was electric. Will knew he must leaving bright marks on his skin. One finger dragged a circle around the tender flesh of his nipple, causing him to emit a high whimper. He bucked his back to press closer to Hannibal’s hand, then cried out in pain as its bladed fingertip slid straight into him. Lights flashed in his eyes under the blindfold, and a trickle of warmth dripped down his side from the cut.

“Hannibal—“

But his lover cut him off with an unusually cold finger to his lips. “Hush now,” he said in his new deep voice. “Or do you want me to stop? We can stop at any time.” His fingers danced lower still, trailing along the hair below Will’s navel until they reached the waistband of his jeans. They tugged at its edge.

Will sighed as Hannibal’s fingers pressed onward to tease his cock through its denim cage. “No,” he breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“That’s what I thought,” Hannibal said before giving another dark chuckle.

The trickle at Will’s side hadn’t abated. “I’m bleeding,” he said.

And again, Hannibal didn’t reply. He brought his other hand to Will’s chest—to his little wound—and swirled the blood around his nipple before raising it to Will’s lips. “Lick it clean?”

Will turned his head away. For all that was going on, as much as he _wanted_ all of this, he couldn’t bring himself to taste his own blood.

“No?” Hannibal asked. “That’s fine. Allow me, then.” He withdrew his hand, and Will heard a sick slurping noise that could only be Hannibal sucking the blood from his fingers.

“Did I… Do I taste good?” Will asked hesitantly. Hannibal was toying with his cock more firmly now. The fabric dulled the razor’s edge of his fingertips just enough for Will to forget they were there at all.

“You taste delicious,” Hannibal answered. His voice echoed around as if spoken from all sides of the room.

“You should go down on me then,” Will said, finding his confidence. “I mean, if I’m so delicious.”

Hannibal clucked his tongue. “Ah, ah, ah. You _are_ an eager boy, but don’t be too eager. There are many surprises in store for you.” As he said _surprises_ his voice seemed to split into a dozen fragments.

“That pill is altering me,” Will said. “I can’t… You sound strange.”

“Perhaps I simply _am_ strange,” Hannibal returned. He worked his hand faster along the front of Will’s jeans. “You’re erect.”

“Am I?” Will asked. He realized he probably shouldn’t be, considering his blood was still flowing—but he’d be fooling himself if he said something about that didn’t excite him.

“Extremely hard,” Hannibal said. His voice seemed to be deepening further. “Would you like me to let you out?”

Will’s first instinct was to say _yes, yes, yes,_ but he knew being removed from his jeans would eliminate the barrier between his cock and Hannibal’s spiked hands. So instead he said nothing.

“Is your silence acquiescence?”

He swallowed hard and—against his better judgment—nodded. He didn’t actually care about Hannibal’s nails. He wouldn’t hurt him. At least, not too badly. He felt one of Hannibal’s fingers drag a line along his cock’s length over the top of his pants and groaned. A fingernail jabbed under his waistband just to the side of his zipper, and with a loud rip tore a gaping hole in the fabric.

“Forgive me,” Hannibal said. “These hands aren’t very dexterous.”

_Hands?_ Will thought. Maybe it was nothing, but he hadn’t said _gloves_ or even _knives_. He’d said _hands_. It was strange and somehow disconcerting, but Will let it slide. He was too excited not to.

“This might hurt,” Hannibal said. “Though I do hope it won’t.

Before Will could ask what he meant, Hannibal’s wicked fingers pushed his erection to the side and pulled it through the hole in his jeans. Will moaned throatily through tightly-closed lips. He could feel the fingers more acutely now as they pressed into his most tender flesh. They were longer than he’d realized, steel hard, and cold as ice, drawing stark contrast to Will’s warm, blood-engorged cock. Thankfully Hannibal seemed to be using their undersides to manipulate him now, but they were still sharp at the sides. Jagged, almost.

Whatever was on Hannibal’s fingers slowly teased and rolled along the underside of Will’s dick, pressing it down against his lower abdomen to let its prodigious length reach up to his navel.

Will gently moved his hips against Hannibal’s fingers, careful not to push too much. He didn’t want a repeat of the cut on his chest. That had been exciting, but he wasn’t about to slash up his erection. Hannibal’s nails felt slightly curved as they slid across Will’s cock. As he felt out the shape of them more and more, he desired nothing more than to see them and find out what they could possibly be. “The tie…”

“What about it?” Hannibal asked. He picked up his pace a little.

“Take it off,” Will managed to say through his pleasure—and slight pain.

“Are you sure?”

Will nodded as best he could.

“Completely sure? We could go on like this… And you might not like what you see.”

“I’m sure,” Will said, though the second part confused him.

“Very well.”

The two words sent shivers through Will’s half-exposed body. He waited for Hannibal’s hands to tug off the tie, but he seemed to be hesitating. Will couldn’t remember him _ever_ hesitating during sex. After a few more seconds, Hannibal’s fingers finally found purchase. Two of them slipped under the tie at his temple and stopped there.

“You’re absolutely sure?” he asked again.

“Do it,” Will said.

Hannibal yanked his fingers against the silk, slitting it open, and all at once the glow of the lamp—probably a dim glow, but nearly blinding in the moment after the perfect darkness—rushed up to his eyes. He began to smile as he saw Hannibal’s figure silhouetted above him, but the smile didn’t get a chance to form completely. Hannibal seemed… dark. Pitch black, darker than he should be, even in shadow. Will squeezed his eyes shut, then open again, trying to correct his vision. He blinked again, bringing Hannibal’s form into sharper focus.

He _was_ black, as if covered in ink, and something jutted out from either side of his head. Will shook his head slowly in creeping fear. He knew it was the drug—it _had_ to be the drug—but his lover had grown what he couldn’t describe as anything other than horns. He remembered why he’d wanted the tie off in the first place and turned his attention to Hannibal’s hands. One was in the air above his body, the other at his side, and both were attached to Hannibal with bony, emaciated arms—just as black as the rest of him. To Will’s horror, they ended in long talons. The fingernails he had felt hadn’t been attached to gloves at all, and they hadn’t been knives, either. They naturally protruded from the tips of Hannibal’s fingers. Will’s body tensed, and he tugged against his bonds. He didn’t get very far. He was fastened tight to the bed.

Hannibal cocked his head. “You’re frightened,” he said in that newly deep voice of his.

“It’s… it’s… you’re…” Will choked out, not sure how to vocalize what he was seeing.

“What do you see?” Hannibal asked.

“I don’t know how to say it.” Will turned his head to the side. He couldn’t bear to look at Hannibal as the drug had made him appear.

“Then try,” Hannibal said. “I’m curious.”

Tears welled in Will’s eyes. “Curious? You look like a monster.”

“A monster, then,” Hannibal said. He sounded so matter-of-fact. It only served to scare Will further. “You must be having a reaction to the pill. My apologies for giving it to you in the first place.”

Will attempted to steady his breathing, and pulled against his ropes and handcuffs once more. Neither endeavor worked. “It’s the drugs?”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “You don’t think I’m actually a monster, do you?”

Of course Will didn’t, not logically—he knew there was no such thing as monsters—but his nervous system couldn’t help but respond to what he’d seen. Hannibal’s words still relaxed him a little, though not enough to truly calm him. They did let him think more clearly, however, and his mind quickly grabbed hold of a thought. “Your nails are sharp,” he said.

“My nails?” Hannibal sounded a little surprised, as if he’d been caught off guard. “I assure you, my nails are perfectly normal.”

Will raised his head up a little and looked down at his torso. Deep red scratches marked his body, and just as he’d thought, he had a gash on his left pec. It had stopped freely bleeding, but it was still clearly visible against his pale flesh. And, below his chest, he saw his hard cock jutting from the hole in his jeans. Somehow he hadn’t gone soft from the shock of Hannibal’s appearance. He was even throbbing. “The cuts…” he said. “You’re lying.”

“Cuts? What on earth are you talking about?”

“You cut me. My shirt. My chest. My jeans. You cut me.”

“I told you, my nails are perfectly normal.”

Without the cuts, Will might have believed that Hannibal’s new shape was a hallucination. He might have believed his new voice was, too. But he couldn’t deny the evidence written across his chest, couldn’t deny the pain and pleasure the talons had given him. The cuts and the holes he’d torn in his clothes weren’t something he could have hallucinated. “You _are_ a monster,” he said.

“Some might call me that, though I hoped you never would,” Hannibal said. He sounded hurt.

“It’s not your actions,” Will struggled out. “You _look_ like a monster. You look like a _demon_.”

“I suppose you want me to stop, then?”

“Stop?” Will looked at him again. He hadn’t changed—flat onyx skin and horns—but somehow he seemed less menacing than he had at first. Maybe Will was adjusting. But even in his shock he hadn’t considered the idea that they should abort their sex. His cock certainly hadn’t given up. He understood then that whatever he was seeing really did excite him. He _had_ wanted something dangerous tonight.

A slight smile crept across Hannibal’s pitch-black lips. Will’s expression must have given his thoughts away. “Shall we continue?” Hannibal asked.

“Yeah,” Will said, his body relaxing. He smirked up at Hannibal’s monstrous head. “But only if you scratch me up some more.”

“That, dear Will,” Hannibal said, “will be my pleasure.”

He drew blood with his next stroke, and Will couldn’t be happier.


End file.
